Ebony Memories
by CrazyMichelle
Summary: Memories from Gaara's childhood. One-Shot


The early hours of the morning and the late hours of the evening were the worst times in Sabuku no Gaara's opinion. Being unable to sleep himself, he envied those who could slip away into peaceful darkness while their bodies rested. The bed that he lay upon now had no real use to him, but as a soft place to sit or lay down when his feet were protesting against standing. And, perhaps, to remind him of what he couldn't do, and feed raw meat to the ebony abyss that dwelled within his chest. He could feel it stretching, reaching out to consume more.

The darkness spread from the center of his being, slithering forth like smoke to infect the rest of him, to choke what meager amount of happiness that he had managed to gather. It was too dark to hold inside, and the excess spilled out his eyes, trailing down his cheeks to become absorbed by his pillow. Gaara tried to swallow, to push his throat to force back the beginnings of sobs. He longed for company, the touch and presence of another, someone to ease this... this emotion that was threatening to break him. He wasn't quite sure of what it was; he had never felt anything like it before.

He knew that this was the time that many of the kids in his village were beginning to stir from the peacefulness of sleep, the comfort of pleasant dreams, ready to welcome the coming day. Envy blossomed like a well watered plant in his chest, and the shadows welcomed it as a friend and strengthened. Those children had mothers to gently rouse them from slumber, and to feed them breakfast filled with their love, fathers who would be proud of their accomplishments, siblings who would play with them, laugh with them, comfort them when they felt sad, friends to share things with, to have fun with. Gaara had none of that. His siblings ignored him, his mother was dead, his father only acknowledged him when he did wrong, and all throughout the village he was avoided out of fear.

His eyes were dry now. There was no remaining moisture left in his eyes to cry out. He sat up, clutching his stuffed bear, his only loyal companion, to his chest. He couldn't lay there any longer. The shadows already pushed at his control, gnawed on the edges of all of his thoughts... If he continued to stay on the bed, they would consume him. The bed springs creaked as his weight no longer rested on it, and he silently walked out into the morning.

~*~*~*~

Garra swung slowly, his eyes downcast, the swing making metallic squeaks as it moved. He was well aware of the children that were playing a ball game to his left, but he made no attempt to watch or join. He thought that maybe if he kept to himself, they would let him stay there...

A shout caught his attention, and he looked up, aquamarine eyes catching sight of a round object sailing through the air. Distressed and disappointed words drifted through the dry desert air. The ball had landed at the top of a canyon; there was no way the small kids could reach it. Gaara shifted in his seat. _They_ wouldn't be able to get it, but...

A cloud of sand descended, the ball riding it down into Gaara's outstretched and waiting hands. He turned and walked slowly over to he children, raising and offering them the ball. They watched him, curious for a few seconds, before they began as a group to panic.

"I-it's Gaara!"

"Gaara of the Sand!"

"R-run!"

The redhead watched them flee with widened eyes. Something rose up in his chest and slashed outward. An uncaring, malicious laugh echoed through his mind.

The ball dropped.

"W-wait...!"

He reached out towards their retreating backs. A trail of sand answered and shot after them.

"Don't--! Don't leave me alone!"

~*~*~*~

He was back at his house. A dark cloud of regret choked him, and tears hovered behind his shining eyes. All he had wanted to do was to help them, to make them happy. He would be content, if only they would accept him. If they would consider him normal, look at him with thankful, non-fearful eyes...

But instead they had run. They had screamed, called him a demon, and fled before him as if he were a bringer of death. He couldn't handle that. Something inside him had snapped, and he had lost control. If Yashamaru hadn't been there, hadn't stopped him...

Dark images of blood filled his mind. He flinched, shutting his eyes tightly, trying to block them out. His stomach lurched; he could taste bile on the back of his tongue. Was he really a monster? A demon, like they called him? After all, what else would do such things... imagine such gruesome scenes? His eyes opened, and stared at the floor. He had heard a few stories, bedtime tales and legends of demons. They were grotesque, repulsive things, causing mayhem and wreaking havoc everywhere they went.

He glanced up at his reflection in a window. He wasn't ugly. He looked like a normal human, a normal boy. He couldn't be a demon...

With a jerk, he remembered another story, of a demon who had disguised himself as a human. All those who looked upon him had been deceived. There had been nothing to tell him apart from any other human. That is, until he had been slain by a man who wasn't fooled by the monsters outward appearance. The demon had bled black...

He stared at his reflection with a small frown.

_Is my blood black?_

A sort of morbid curiosity grew in him. He had to prove everyone wrong... or right. He had to know. Glancing around the room, he searched for something that would help him quench his thirst for proof. _There._ His eyes stopped on a letter opener. He walked over and picked it up, holding it in his hands and examining the edges. They were extremely sharp. He nodded, satisfied. This would do the job. He turned it in his hand so that the blade pointed downward, and held it over his other hand. After taking a deep breath to ready himself, he stabbed downward, until the blade dug into something.

He blinked. It took a moment before he realized what had happened, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

The sand had stopped him.


End file.
